Tower Trouble
by LadyLania
Summary: Think architecture is absolutely unrelated to fairy tales? Might want to think again. Alternate title suggestions appreciated! :


Gretchen wiped the sweat from her forehead and smoothed her wavy dark hair behind her ears. Spells like these were strenuous to cast, especially in the middle of the forest, and it had taken her a couple of times to perfect the words. But finally, she had her perfect tower: a lofty, cylindrical fortress of stone, with one gleaming spire capping it off. The ivy clinging to the base and sides gave it the appearance of a crumbling ruin, when, in all actuality, it had only been among the trees a mere twenty seconds. And of course, there was one wide window at the very top of the tower. Now all it needed was a princess.

Gretchen mumbled the people-moving chant under her breath, glad that this spell was easy to master. Within seconds, she heard the girl making confused and agitated noises, no doubt annoyed at being whisked away from the humble cottage to a strange tower in the forest. And then:

"MOTHER! What are you _doing_?"

The feminine face of a post-pubescent princess appeared at the window, her pretty features contorted in exasperation.

"My dear," called Gretchen from the ground, "you are officially grounded."

The girl gasped, then thrust her lower lip out in a pout. "But why? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"If you count wandering off by yourself into town to avoid doing chores as something commendable, then no, you didn't do anything wrong. But I certainly do not count things that way."

"I finished all of my chores an hour ago! Besides, I was bored and wanted to talk to-"

"Oh heavens, not that boy again!" Gretchen sighed, shifting her weight and setting her hand on her hip.

"Relax, will you? I just told him that I was tired of living in that dusty, deteriorating shack you call a house. And I wanted...I don't know...to be a little freer. Less rules, more adventures. That kind of thing." She gave a small smile, staring into space, then returned to her pouting pose, this time examining her fingernails with mild disinterest. "Aaannd...I also told him your full name, and our address, and that you sometimes go for days without brushing your teeth."

Momentarily taken aback, Gretchen scoffed in denial, then scolded loudly, "You deliberately disobeyed my rule of going into the village alone. And on top of that, you divulged _classified_ information to...what was his name? Harold? Hemingway?"

Her daughter huffed. "It's Hans. Only you would think of naming your child something ridiculous like Hemingway...or Rapunzel."

"Don't you take that tone of voice with me, Rapunzel!"

"What tone of voice? I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You watch your mouth, or I'll turn you into a-"

A new voice broke into the argument. "Hellooo? Anyone home?"

Both mother and daughter turned to find the owner of the voice. A heavy-set man with a bright yellow hard hat, a checkered shirt and peculiar blue pants thrust aside the last of the briars with his clipboard. Barely squeezing between two redwoods, he stumbled into the clearing, panting hard. His chin was covered in second-day stubble, and a shock of brown hair protruded from underneath his hat. Eyes widening, Rapunzel ducked out of sight, away from the window.

"Howdy, ma'am. I'm looking for a—" the man consulted his clipboard—"Gretchen Gothel…?"

Shooting a murderous glance up at the window, she stretched a too-sweet smile over her lips and held out her hand. "That's me."

He pumped her hand up and down heartily, leaving her slightly shaken. "Much obliged, Ms. Gothel. Wilbur Rickety, from the Department of Buildin' Inspection."

"Charmed, I'm sure." His breath smelled heavily of onions and peanuts. Charming, indeed.

"I received an anony-mouse tip that yore residence wasn't exactly up to par on our buildin' code. I was s'posed to come around two to check it out, but I saw yore note and came up here. Quite the detour, ain't it?" He chuckled, then swung his head around to look at the tower. "I'm assuming this is yore residence...let's get started!" The man strode heavily towards the ivy-covered fortress, leaving Gretchen staring open-mouthed after him.

_Hans_. He must have been the anonymous tipster. _But how did he know I was in the forest...?_ Mentally face-palming herself, she realized that the sign she'd nailed to the cottage door for the gathering she'd hosted a week ago was still there (the one that read _Gretchen's Candle Party—Redwood Forest—__Back at 5_). She thought wryly, _Note to self: don't leave notes. _She finally closed her mouth and hastened to catch up with Wilbur. Thankfully, he said nothing about candles. Trying to conceal her annoyance, she stammered, "I-I'm sorry…how long is this going to take?"

"Oh, y'know, it could take anywhere from two to three hours." Reaching the tower, he rapped on the stone with his knuckles, oblivious to Gretchen's miffed tone. "Hm…seems to be pretty sound and in good condition..." he muttered, beginning to walk around the base. "But I think the height-to-thickness ratio's all outta whack. How many stories would ya reckon this buildin' is?" he asked, looking to Gretchen.

She waved vaguely at the tower. "I don't know...five? Six? Look, Mr. Rickety, is it at all possible that you could come back later? I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Sure wish I could, Ms. Gothel, but a job's a job, and if I don't complete my quota of inspection forms, my job might not be a job anymore." He pulled out a pencil and scribbled on his clipboard, musing aloud to himself all the while. "Stone masonry condition: check. Height-to-thickness ratio: not check. Yeah, you're going to have to fix the height. Might even have to cut it in half."

"Oh, it's imperative that the height remains the same."

"Well, couldja stick more rooms in there?"

"Of course not! It's all solid stone!"

A bewildered Wilbur stared at the tower. "All solid...? Well,that—that's a problem."Letting the clipboard dangle at his side, he told her, "You'll need ta have a whole lotta windows then. You need a certain amount of light per square-"

"There _is_ a window!" Gretchen interrupted. "It's all solid stone up until the _window_."

"Window?" He shaded his eyes and peered up towards the sky. "What wi—oh. That window." Wilbur checked his inspection form, then squinted again at the top of the tower. "You're gonna put a glass pane in there, right?"

_I'll just stuff you in there; you're a pain in the-  
_

"'Cause it's possible that you could fall outta the window without a pane, and that would be a problem."He stashed his pencil behind his ear and twisted around to Gretchen again. "I'm gonna have to see the inside now, can ya show me the door?"

She rolled her eyes. "There isn't a door."

Silence. Then: "Now, see here, Ms. Gothel. In order to _live_ inside of a house, you need ta _get_ inside of the house. And in order ta get _inside_ of the house, you need a door. Unless you can," he wiggled his fingers in front of her face, "cast some kinda hocus-pocus spell thingy to walk through walls or fly."

_Which I can. But you wouldn't know that.  
_

"And unless you can do that, you need a door. And if you don't have a door, well, that—that's a—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's a problem. I KNOW HOW DOORS WORK, OKAY?" A noise between a sigh and a roar escaped from her throat.

"So, are you plannin' to use some kinda fancy ella-vator or something?"

Gretchen stopped and with sickly-sweet sarcasm, explained very patiently, "Yes, of course I'm going to use an elevator. I'm going to spend thousands of dollars on a shiny metal contraption that takes hours to install and will probably break after the first month whose sole purpose is to carry me up and down a tower about twice a week!" She finally threw her hands in the air. "Don't be STUPID! I'm going to use HAIR to reach the window! What kind of fool do you take me for?"

Wilbur timidly ventured, "One that lives in a tower in the middle of a forest and doesn't follow buildin' regulations?"

"GAH!" She folded her fingers into twin fists. "I...don't...LIVE...here..." she said through clenched teeth. "My DAUGHTER lives here."

The clipboard fell to the grass and hit a rock with a dull clang. "You got a kid livin' here?" he asked incredulously. "That's violatin' at _least_ seven sections of the buildin' code."

Gretchen knew she had said too much. Uh-oh.

He stepped closer to her with concerned curiosity. "That's definitely not a safe area for children under 13...Can I see your building permit, ma'am?"

"I, uh…I'm afraid I don't have one…"

His jaw dropped and he gawked openly. Who was this woman who defied nearly every village building ordinance? "No permit?" he stammered. "Now that, th-that's a pro-"

She jammed her finger into his chest, all pretense of politeness gone. "Now you look here, buster!" Wilbur backpedaled awkwardly, trying to escape her growing wrath. "My problems are now your problems! We got _mutual_ problems. I don't give a hoot about your little building code OR your job. It's my kid, and I don't need any babysitting advice from a fat, smelly walrus!"

"If I see any walruses, I'll tell 'em," he managed to squeak out.

"And DON'T you get cocky with me. You've got enough problems already, and I KNOW you don't want any more. So you have exactly TWO seconds to get your behind out of this clearing, because if you don't," her black eyes glittered, "well, that's a problem."

He nodded repeatedly, never breaking his gaze from her face.

"Ready?One..."

"But, but, I-" he tried to stall.

"TWO!"

He took off running to the edge of the clearing.

Gretchen considered turning him into a frog (or worse) but decided against it. There were too many toads in the world as it was.

She looked back at the tower. "Rapunzel? Rapunzel, you can come out now."

No response.

"Rapunzel!"

Gretchen's gaze whizzed to the opposite treeline to see the tip of a familiar yellow braid vanish into the leaves. "Oh, don't you dare, girl. DON'T...YOU...DARE!" She raced off to the trees. "Didn't you hear me say you were grounded? Well, I'll say it again: You're GROUNDED! For LIFE!"


End file.
